Love Letters, Inc. Read Online Free PDF Page A

She says in today's economy a blending of two careers makes more sense than a blending of hearts."
    He'd had enough. He was teed off. Here he was swimming upstream in a river of testosterone, and the cause of it was suggesting he go out with her accountant! "I think I can arrange my own social life, Miss O'Hanlon."
    "Oops." She wrinkled her nose and looked contrite. "Sorry. Of course you can." She stood. "More soup?"
    "No. Thanks." He tossed his napkin on the table and rose to go. "I think I'll leave before you call the marriage broker. I appreciate the lunch."
    She walked him to the door, Font ambling along behind them. Once there, she pushed her glasses up her nose and gazed up at him, her hand on the doorknob. The sunlight streamed through the side window, illuminating her sweater to neon.
    "I didn't mean to embarrass you, or anything," she said. "I hope you know that."
    "You didn't." One look through the mended glasses to her bright, somewhat worried blue eyes and his irritation dissolved. He couldn't help himself, he touched her cheek, drawing his index finger along her jawline. Her skin was dangerously soft. His touch seemed to disconcert her, but the neck brace made it awkward for her to pull away. He broke the connection reluctantly. "Thanks for lunch, Rosie."
    She smiled then. "I guess you can't be too mad if I'm Rosie again."
    "I guess not," he said, and meant it.
    He was opening his car door when he heard her call from the porch, "What about the letters? You didn't tell me what you thought about my idea. Shall I do it or not?"
    The letters. Damn! He didn't have a clue what her idea was. But then again...
    He smiled and turned. "I'll think about it and give you a call. Don't do anything until you hear from me. Okay?"
    "Okay," she yelled back.
    * * *
    Rosie watched him go, waving once as he left her property and headed down the main road.
    She stayed on the porch a long time, first standing, then easing herself into the big rocker near the door. Font flopped down beside her.
    Her thoughts went here, there, and everywhere. It was as though she'd opened her door and a gale had blown through. Damn those eyes of his. She always was a sucker for green eyes.
    "Too bad," she said to Font, rubbing his ear. She leaned her head back. "Yup, really too bad."
    Summerton wasn't her man, and that was unfortunate. Because if he were, it would put her ahead of schedule, and that would be terrific, because she wasn't getting any younger. She sighed. Why couldn't she have opened her door to the ideal man instead of an over-worked, overtired corporate robot? She recognized the tension, the frayed edges. Summerton was programmed, hard-wired to a demanding job that barely left him time to eat. She swallowed her disappointment.
    Jonesy would definitely have the hots for him. She pulled her lower lip under her teeth, wondering why she'd suggested they meet. A defensive gesture, she decided. After her last disastrous relationship with a set-the-world-on-fire type, she'd sworn off them for good. The mystery was that she always attracted them. That they also attracted her, she chose to ignore.
    Within weeks of being hired by Moore Write, the VP of Sales had attached himself to her desk like moss to a ruin. So she'd decided to work at home. Lord, the man had already gone through three wives. Add to that he lived in a glass penthouse, wore Armani, and drove a two-seater Mercedes. They were peanut butter and pate.
    And so were she and Kent Summerton, and that was a heartbreaker, because those eyes of his were to drown in, and that neural anesthetic he used for aftershave was—
    Rosie yanked up her socks and pushed herself out of the rocker. It didn't matter what it was. He didn't make the cut. On that she would not compromise. It would probably shock the hell out of Jonesy, the prioritizer, and Summerton, the magnificent; but Rosie O'Hanlon had come up with a plan of her own.
    And a man like Summerton, all edge and ambition, definitely wasn't